


The Ballad of Fen

by Sonian674



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonian674/pseuds/Sonian674
Summary: In a world not so different from our own, man is slowly overpowering the continent Ron'Adar. The dark king will stop at nothing to gain control over the land, even if this means battling the Lupine gods themselves. Hope for the continent lies in heroes such as Fen, Alba, Carter, and Madge; but will their heroic deeds prove enough when the Shade Herself is working against them?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	1. Chapter 1

The roughly tunneled walls threw the sound of Sacha’s footsteps all around him. The boy skidded around a bend in the shaft, the bare pads of his feet searching for a hold on the condensation saturating the rock. He shot out a hand to stabilize himself on the wall, hardly noticing when he sliced his palm open on a particularly jagged stone.

Fragmented images were flashing through his mind. Isobel was bent over a roll of parchment, her hair shielding the words from view. The next moment she was writhing on the floor, dark ink spreading around her body like a pool of blood.

Sacha pumped his legs faster, his breath coming out in short, rasping puffs. He hadn’t run this fast since his near-nightly run-ins with the dogs; it was Isobel who had ensured that he no longer had them to fear. He rounded a corner and was blasted with bright sunlight reflecting off the snow on the mountain. Shielding his eyes for a moment, he proceeded more cautiously onto the ledge at the tunnel’s end. He rarely ventured outside the vast network of passageways that laced the mountain. From such a high point Sacha could see the sweeping expanse of the Laskí mountains, fading into the greens and browns of Dridden beyond its eastern foothills. Snow whirled through the pitched valleys of the Laskí much like a dancer he had once seen in the Grand Market.

An icy gust of wind doused him with snow, tousling his hair and bringing with it the cold slap of reality. People sometimes lost sense of what was real in the Laskí, struck as they were by the frigid beauty of the tallest peaks in Ron'Adar. Sacha pushed his russet hair behind his ears and cupped his hands around his mouth, bellowing at the top of his lungs, “KOLO!” The greedy wind snatched his voice away almost as soon as it had passed his lips, but Sacha knew that the liskíl would hear.

“KOLO!” he cried again, pulling his woolen tunic tighter around himself. The chill was biting. He stamped his bare, frozen feet, about to give up and provide whatever help he could to Isobel himself. But just as he turned back toward the mouth of the tunnel, a voice spoke directly behind him.

“Sacha.” He rotated to see Kolo hovering over the rock, his hawk’s eyes boring into Sacha’s skull.

Sacha stammered, shivering, “Isobel, she’s– she… she c-collapsed, she was j-just writing, th-then she had a… a fit, I d-didn’t know what–”

With a twisting motion of his long, serpentine body, Kolo flicked his tufted tail and narrowed his wings to shoot down the tunnel. Sacha turned and sprinted after him, welcoming the blast of warmth that greeted him as he descended further down the pass. Sacha had long since lost sight of Kolo, but he was as familiar with the maze of tunnels that traversed the mountain as he was with the crisscross of scars that lined his stomach.

In what seemed to be a fraction of the time that it had taken him to reach the outer ledge, Sacha found himself running down the long passage that led to the great cavern. Green reflections from hanging gemstones bounced off the subterranean lake to greet him. He traversed the water, dodging through the maw of grinning stalactites and stalagmites to take the quickest route through the cavern to the cramped tunnel that led to Isobel’s favored chamber.

He stopped short upon the threshold. Isobel lay prone on the floor with her eyes sealed shut. Kolo was coiled upright beside her, staring at her intently. Sacha opened and closed his mouth confusedly, wondering why Kolo didn’t seem to be doing anything. But something told him to stay quiet. Slowly, Isobel’s eyes flickered open. The whites of her eyes showed for a moment before violet irises rolled out from inside her head. She smoothed her hair and cracked her neck. She looked at Kolo and, Sacha knew, something passed between them. Kolo nodded and, uncoiling, flew from the chamber. Sacha stepped aside just in time to let him pass.

Isobel then turned her gaze upon Sacha. No matter how long he spent in her company, he didn’t think he would ever cease to be disconcerted by her soul-searching, violet eyes. “Get Oona,” she commanded him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world not so different from our own, man is slowly overpowering the continent Ron'Adar. The dark king will stop at nothing to gain control over the land, even if this means battling the Lupine gods themselves. Hope for the continent lies in heroes such as Fen, Alba, Carter, and Madge; but will their heroic deeds prove enough when the Shade Herself is working against them?

“Oona’s here!” Beatriss exclaimed with a smile when Fen opened his door early on a balmy morning that held the promise of a scorching day, typical of Halsted in late summer. Fen rubbed his eyes blearily, having just stumbled out of bed and slipped a loose tunic over his head before answering the urgent knocking at his door.

“Alright… Oona…?” Fen queried, annoyed.

“I’ve been telling you she’s coming for weeks!” scolded Beatriss.

“Right, right, the cousin?” Fen confirmed as Beatriss slipped past him into the two rooms that Fen called home above Roger’s smithy. Well, Fen’s smithy, now.

Beatriss flung the curtains beside Fen’s bed wide, hanging over the window’s short rail and inhaling the dry, desert air. “That’s the one! I can’t recall the last time I saw her. Do you know she’s been studying with a master of herbal medicine in the Laskí Mountains? Crazy, right?” Fen nodded his assent absentmindedly, more concerned with where Beatriss was putting his clothes as she swooped around the room, picking up after him.

“Anyway, she’s here to study southern herbal arts. Hard to treat warm-weather diseases when you’re freezing all the time, I suppose.” Beatriss laughed, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. She snatched a pair of crumpled underclothes from where they had been stuffed under the cushion of a chair. She straightened and gave him a stern look. “Really, Fen, this place has gone to the Shade since I stopped coming by so often.”

Fen flushed red under his ashy blond hair. Trying to pass it off as a result of the heat, he fanned his face and remarked, “Feels like it’s going to be a steamer today, huh?”

Beatriss snorted but obliged him, “Sure does. Poor Oona’s coming straight from the mountains to this.” Beatriss gestured out the window to the city, where, already sweating, countless heads bobbed and weaved through the narrow streets between low stone and clay buildings, overhung with colorful awnings to shield patrons and residents from the sun’s relentless stare.

Beatriss continued, “Put some proper clothing on and meet me at my place. Oona should return from greeting the family soon.” She tossed the underclothes to Fen and descended the stairs to the smithy through the open door.

Fen looked after her until the rough-hewn door had stopped swinging in her wake. He balled up the underclothes and tossed them onto his bed. At that moment, Blue trotted through the door. The ligot was an odd creature, with a lizard’s body and a hercine head, complete with a furry ridge running from his single horn to the end of his scaly, blue tail. He preferred to hunt for insects at night in the cool of the desert.

“Hey, Blue,” Fen greeted him. “Find anything good?” Blue cocked his head quizzically and jumped on to Fen’s bed, curling up on the threadbare blanket. “Yeah, I’d like to go back to sleep too. But Oona’s here.” Fen made a face. “I do suppose now that she’s here Beatriss won’t feel the need to discuss her endlessly.”

He pulled on a pair of thin leggings, knowing he would be overheated in whatever he wore. He was used to the brutal heat, having lived in the vast city of Halsted on the edge of the expansive Great Barrens for his entire life.

Slipping a rough-spun tunic over his unruly hair and pulling on a pair of boots, he glanced at Blue and whistled. The ligot followed Fen out the door and down into the smithy. Fen couldn’t think of it as his; it would always be Roger’s, even though the man who raised him had gone to Galaxy. Roger had shown him nothing but kindness after his parents’ death in the fire. He hardly remembered them; for all intents and purposes, Roger had been his father.

Fen knew he wasn’t the only one who missed Roger; the blacksmith had been one of the best in Halsted, and he had expected Fen to keep the smithy running. But Fen had never had a knack for the trade, and the shop was losing ever more of Roger’s faithful customers to rival shops, disappointed as they were by Fen’s clumsy craftsmanship in the forge.

Fen eyed his ongoing projects morosely. The helmets he had been commissioned by the City Guard of Halsted were in a bad way, to say the least. He had left the metal in the fire too long, allowing it to become weak, and now it was brittle and dinted. He’d have to scrap the metal and start over from scratch. The Commander would not be pleased.

Frustrated, Fen aimed a kick at a pair of tongs leaning up against an anvil, but missed, cursing as his toes connected with the solid metal. He cursed under his breath. “Great. Just what I need.”

He flexed his toes painfully and hobbled out the door, blinking at the sudden onslaught of light and noise. Father Sun was already well on his way across the sky. Dust billowed up under the wheels of rattling carts, laden with goods bound for various markets. Horses whinnied and men yelled at one another, greeting acquaintances, scolding anyone who got in the way, yelling simply for the sake of yelling. The smithy lay on a main thoroughfare. Fen locked up the forge and sidestepped a pile of steaming manure, weaving through pedestrians and following Blue down a narrow side street. A woman leaned over a balcony above him. Her pale shift blew around her tanned legs, and dark hair played at her face as she pinned clothing to a length of twine strung across the width of the street. She hummed a gentle tune, stopping to wave when she noticed Fen watching her. He returned the greeting, his eyes lingering as a small, dark-haired boy ran to the woman and wrapped his little arms around her legs, staring wide-eyed at Blue. The woman ruffled the boy’s shaggy hair and resumed her melody. Fen smiled and continued on his way.

The street opened onto a wider road, lined with various shops and stalls selling wares. Blue ran out into the street and disappeared into the busy throng of people. “Blue!” Fen called. A few people looked up, but no ligot. Fen shrugged; Blue knew his way to Beatriss’.

Waiting for a break in the flow of people, horses, and camels, Fen crossed the street to a stall where a Barrenman, by the looks of him, was gesticulating wildly to passersby. Spotting Fen approaching him, the Barrenman waved him closer, exclaiming, “Good man! Best pricker juice, you can buy here!” in the discordant accent of the indigenous people of the Great Barrens that most Halsted folk were in some way descended from. His dark face lacked the sweat apparent on the other vendors; Barrenmen were built for such heat.

“You will find the lowest price here, of all juice sellers!” the man continued. Fen doubted that, but he bought a cup of the sweet, cool liquid made from a cactus’ pricker fruit all the same.

Fen continued on his way, ignoring the various merchants calling to him. He turned his glance upward, using his hand as a visor against the sun. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. Fen frowned; the rains should have come by now. Halsted was drier than ever, and water rations were becoming necessary as they had in the Great Drought of nineteen years past, during which a fire had taken Fen’s parents from him.

The low clay buildings provided him some shade from the sun’s relentless stare. At the next intersection, Fen took a left and crossed the street to a narrow stone building, almost hidden by its burnt brown neighbors. Smoke trailed from a small chimney on its roof. A chipped sign hung crookedly over the door, reading ‘Apothecary’. Fen pushed through the door, which he knew to stick, and was immediately accosted by a bundle of something foul-smelling that hung in the doorway. “Argh!” Fen cried, swatting around his head, sending the dried, leathery somethings crashing to the ground.

“What in the name of the Father–” started a lanky boy, rising from a desk on which he had just upturned a vial of blood-red powder. “Fen?” He removed an eye-glass from his left eye to see Fen standing bewildered by the door. “Who else?” He grinned. “I see you’ve met my new money-makers.”

Recovering himself, Fen ran his hands through his hair and shot an annoyed glance at the boy. “Is that really the best place to put those, Jasper?” Fen gestured at what he now recognized as batwings strewn around him on the floor.

Jasper laughed, tripping across the shop, hindered by the overflowing shelves and tables of mysterious-looking herbs and spices in pots and jars. He clapped Fen on the shoulder and bent to pick up the batwings. “They stay potent when they’re able to dry in the sun, but I don’t want to leave them outside for people to steal. Hence, the door.” He brandished one at Fen. “Do you know how much these things go for nowadays? Five golden Zaras - apiece!” He laughed incredulously. “You’d think more people would step out into the desert and shoot down some bats. I suppose they’re afraid of the sand cats,” he pondered aloud.

“I take it you’re not afraid of the sand cats?” Fen took the bait.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Jasper, his face lighting up. Recovering the last of the batwings, he dumped the lot in a basket on the shop’s counter, turned around, and promptly tripped over a large case of even larger exotic-looking flowers. He straightened, pushing his mop of dark hair out of his face. “New shipment!” he explained. “The two-faced elephaunt blossom. Procured from Zohstow. You can’t find these anywhere but the densest jungles. Touch the petals and you’ll be dead in three minutes. Extremely toxic. But the stems can provide relief for the most stubborn aches and pains.” He patted the case proudly. “Still haven’t quite gotten used to them being here, though.”

More carefully this time, Jasper wove back to the desk he had been stationed at before Fen disturbed the batwings. “Look what you made me do, Fen!” Jasper chastised Fen jokingly, gesturing at the red powder spread across the desk.

“I can clean it up for you–” Fen started, reaching to sweep the powder into a pile, but Jasper shoved his hands out of the way.

“Don’t touch that! Fen, how dense are you? Haven’t you learned anything after all these years? Never touch anything in here without my permission!” Jasper slipped on a pair of thick leather gloves and brushed the powder into a clear vial. “Chances are it’ll burn you, kill you, or maim you.”

Fen grimaced. He would never forget the time many years ago that he and Roger came to visit Jasper and his mother Mareen. Roger and Mareen had been upstairs, ‘talking business’; Fen knew now that the two had most likely been ‘talking pillow’. He and Jasper had been left downstairs in the shop and strictly instructed not to touch anything. While Jasper’s back was turned, Fen had plunged his entire arm into a basket containing a thick forest of purple vines. They had wound themselves around his arm and were creeping down his back and up his neck when his shrieks roused Roger and Mareen, who came crashing down the stairs to see Jasper pulling frantically on the stubborn vines that were slowly strangling Fen. A few drops of an orange liquid from Mareen sent them writhing back into their basket. Fen wasn’t allowed back to the shop to see Jasper for a week, but the red welts the vines left on his skin were punishment enough.

“This ingenious little mixture right here is how I avoid those sand cats,” said Jasper, stoppering the vial and pulling off the gloves. “Powdered fire pepper and a touch of fire starter so it explodes right in the cat’s face. Sends ‘em running every time. So, Fen, what brings you to my fine establishment today?”

“Well, Beatriss–” began Fen, but Jasper interrupted him.

“Stop right there, my friend. You need say no more.” Jasper put the vial back down and turned to a shelf on the back wall. “I have just the thing for you, a little tincture to spike the emotions–”

“Oh, Jasper, come on! I’m over her, you know that. Everything’s back to how it was before, we’re both better off that way.” Fen reddened slightly. “Things would be much easier if everyone would stop bringing it up constantly.”

“Hey, alright, alright,” Jasper turned from the shelf, holding up his hands. “I’m glad you two are on good terms. So, what was it you came here for?”

“I’m headed over to Beatriss’ to meet her cousin Oona. You know, the one who’s here to study herbal arts,” Fen responded.

“Herbal arts! My specialty.” Jasper grinned. “I take it you’d like some backup?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Fen shifted his weight. “I don’t know if I’m up to take on the Roynes alone if any of them are around.”

“Well, I suppose…” Jasper mocked a sigh. “Of course I’ll come. Maybe I can give this Oona a hand with her studies, if you know what I mean,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, nudging Fen.

“Oh, please,” Fen grinned. But, as always, he was happy to have Jasper’s company. While Jasper was fond of having a good laugh, the boy was wiser than his eighteen years, and had been nothing but a steadfast friend to Fen.

“Where’s Blue?” asked Jasper as the two wound their way toward the door.

“He ran ahead on the Merchant’s Way. He knows his way to Beatriss’; he’s probably already there.” Fen was reassuring himself more than Jasper; while Blue often ran ahead, he usually doubled back rather quickly. This disappearing act was unlike him, especially during daylight hours.

Fen stepped back out into the dry heat. He was blinded for a moment after the smoky dimness of the shop. Jasper locked up behind him, cursing when the rusty key jammed in the equally rusted lock. With much yanking and twisting and muttered obscenities, the key came out with a grinding screech, and the two were on their way.

The few shops on the apothecary’s street were relatively quiet. A mountainous man with a ragged black beard emerged with an elaborate scroll from a shop that advertised parchment and quills; a stooped woman, wisps of white hair clinging to her tanned scalp, exited the butcher’s, trailing a cart with a haunch of meat nearly as big as she. A vulture swooped down to a balcony, the powerful strokes of its wings sending a drying shirt and tunic drifting to the dusty road. It eyed the meat hungrily. Then it turned to Fen. The vulture cocked its head, locking a violet eye on Fen’s blue ones. He halted. There was something very un-vulture-like about the bird.

“Jasper,” Fen said uncertainly, still watching the bird, “Vultures don’t usually have purple eyes, do they?”

Jasper was sauntering nonchalantly ahead of Fen, his gaze roving the sun-baked buildings opposite the vulture. “Only ones I’ve seen are yellow. Odd question; why do you ask?”

Whoosh. At Jasper’s reply, the bird had unfurled its great wings, and now it dove with the speed of a bolt launched from a crossbow, pointed beak aimed directly at Fen’s forehead. “Duck!” Fen cried, launching himself at Jasper and tackling him to the ground.

“What in the–” Jasper’s strangled cry was broken off as he hit the dirt. The vulture pulled out of its dive and circled above the two, searching for a new angle.

“Run, Jasper, just run!” Fen shouted. He clambered to his feet, closely followed by Jasper, covered in dust and looking bewildered. Fen led in a mad race down the street. Shopkeepers ogled out their doors at the vulture chasing the two boys.

Quickly becoming aware of the situation, Jasper called to Fen, “Don’t run in a straight line!” Heeding his advice, Fen darted to his left, just as the vulture swooped down for another pass. He hopped and tripped over woven baskets outside a shop, hearing curses behind him.

“Why–” panted Jasper, gesturing at the bird following them; “We – don’t – look – dead!”

Fen started to reply, but was cut off as the street ended and opened on to a broad thoroughfare. He dove under a parked wagon. Jasper joined him, and Fen said, “I knew that wasn’t an ordinary vulture.”

“I’ve never seen a vulture behave this way,” Jasper replied. “They’re actually quite peaceful.” He was familiar with their behavior from his many sojourns into the desert to gather herbs and samples.

“I think we can lose it along this road,” Fen mused. “Beatriss lives along here, off a side street on the right. If we make it there, we’re safe. The bird won’t come inside. At least, I hope not.”

Jasper nodded, looking worried. “I’ll see you there.” He gave Fen a mock salute.

Fen held up five fingers, and began to fold them down. When he reached one, he nodded, and the boys burst from underneath the wagon, sending chickens squawking. Fen saw Jasper dart to the right, but his view was blocked as the vulture passed within a hand’s breadth of his right ear. He shot to the left, invoking an angry shout and a kick aimed his way by a man herding goats along the road. Glancing back, Fen looked up just in time to see a horse and carriage bearing down on him. He ducked and rolled, passing just underneath the cabin. A bejeweled woman leaned out the window curiously, observing the spectacle that Fen was creating. Many people were halting their tasks to watch the boys’ mad dash down the street.

“Fen!” The sound of Jasper’s voice brought Fen back from his purely survivalist reverie. Jasper was standing at the entrance to a side street, beckoning wildly. Fen had almost missed the turn to Beatriss’, so intent had he been on escaping the vulture. He noticed in the back of his mind that the bird did not seem to be bothering Jasper.

Fen heard a crash and a couple of screams behind him. He assumed the bird had hit a wagon. Feinting left, he made a hard dash for the street where Jasper waited, pushing people aside recklessly. Joining Jasper, Fen sprinted up the less crowded side street. He saw the yellow flag up ahead that hung from Beatriss’ balcony. Pumping his legs as fast as he could, he banked toward the house and dove through the open door, feeling the wind of the vulture’s wings on the back of his neck. Jasper slammed the door behind him.

Fen lay on the floor, his chest heaving. Jasper sunk to the ground, his back against the door. Fen only felt the sweat and dirt coating him, realizing he was trembling, once he was still.

“What,” Jasper panted, “in the name of the Father was that?”

At that moment Beatriss stepped into the entrance hall, closely trailed by a tall, willowy woman with white-blonde hair and slanted, dish-like eyes, who Fen could only assume was Oona.

“I was wondering what all that ruckus was about – I should have known it was you two. What in Creation was going on out there?” Beatriss put her hands on her hips.

Jasper and Fen looked at each other, red-faced and covered in a layer of sandy sweat. A smile tugged at the corners of Fen’s lips.

Jasper saw the smile spreading slowly across Fen’s face and exclaimed, “What could you possibly be smiling at? We were just chased across the city by a giant bird intent on killing us!”

A laugh bubbled up in Fen’s throat, and before he could stop himself, he was doubled up with mirth. Realizing the ludicrousness of the situation, Jasper soon found himself chuckling as well.

“A giant bird… intent on killing us,” Fen managed to get out. “Listen to yourself, Jasper.” And the two doubled over again, their laughter renewed.

Beatriss stood over them, staring incredulously from one boy to the other. “What are you two going on about? A giant bird?”

Recovering himself, Fen managed to get out, “We had just left the apothecary when a massive vulture shot straight at us.”

“Which is odd, because they’re not known to be aggressive toward people,” Jasper chimed in.

“I knew it wasn’t normal when it first eyed me in the street. It’s strange, but I felt that it was more intelligent than a bird should be. And its eyes were violet,” Fen remarked.

“Violet? Are you sure?” Jasper and Fen looked up, for it was Oona who had spoken, with a note of alarm in her voice.

Jasper looked to Fen. “Yeah, I remember you asking me right before it attacked us if the vulture should have purple eyes.”

Fen nodded, looking to Oona, more serious now. “Its eyes held me. I couldn’t move. I felt as if I was under a spell.”

“I’ve never heard of a vulture being a sorcerer, or a wizard,” scoffed Jasper, but Fen couldn’t help noticing the concern Oona’s face still held.

“Well,” Beatriss clapped her hands together. “You two have had quite the morning.” She turned to Oona. “I’m sorry you had to meet these two under such wild circumstances. They’re usually much better behaved.” Fen and Jasper traded glances, trying to hide their smiles.

Oona waved away Beatriss’ apology. “Please, there’s no need to apologize. I’m not averse to some excitement.” She smiled. It certainly improved her face, but there was still something disconcerting in her pale features.

“Come in, I just stewed some tortoise.” Beatriss beckoned Fen and Jasper into her large flat. As a member of the wealthy and respected Royne family of Halsted, Beatriss could afford such expansive lodgings in this slightly less crime-ridden part of town. She preferred the company of common folk, which her highborn family reluctantly permitted, so long as they knew she was safe and comfortable.

Fen and Jasper seated themselves across from Oona at a polished wooden table, Hondin-made by the looks of it, while Beatriss busied herself ladling cold stew into clay bowls.

“I don’t think I’ve formally introduced myself, forgive me,” Oona pronounced. “I’m Oona. I’m here to study southern ailments and treatments.”

“Triss has told us about your skill. I’m Jasper. I run an apothecary; I’m a bit of an herbal expert myself.” Fen stifled a snort, and Beatriss gave Jasper an exasperated look as she placed the bowls of stew in front of her guests. Jasper held his hand out to Oona to shake, but Oona touched her fingertips to her forehead and directed her hand, palm-up, in his direction, a Lupinist greeting more common in the northern regions of Dridden and the Far North.

“I’d be pleased to see your shop,” she said. She turned and repeated the gesture to Fen. “You must be Fen,” she ventured. “Beatriss has told me much about you.”

Fen wondered exactly what Beatriss had told her.

“I hear you run a smithy?” Oona questioned him. “I’d love to see what you’re working on; forgery has always been something I admire. I only wish I had the requisite skill.”

“I’m not sure I have the requisite skill either,” replied Fen embarrassedly.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. You're not so bad,” Beatriss interjected.

“You might change your tune once you’ve seen those helmets he’s got going at the moment,” Jasper muttered. Fen shoved him.

“I only went into the blacksmith’s profession because Roger always hoped I’d carry on the forge once he was gone. My guardian after my parents died,” he explained to Oona. “I didn’t want to disappoint him; he was a great man. I just never had the hands for the craft.” He studied his thin, long-fingered hands wrapped around the bowl in front of him, a far cry from the burly, calloused appendages of most blacksmiths.

“So what about you, Oona?” Jasper questioned her. “What do you do all day up in the Laskí? There can’t be that many ill people to treat, hardly a soul lives up there.”

“I keep busy,” Oona responded evasively.

“Have you ever been to Ordanncliff?” Jasper questioned her. “If I could afford to travel that’s where I would go. The buildings hanging off the sides of the mountains, cool wind blowing through your windows, and that view…” he trailed off wistfully.

“I’ve been,” Oona replied. “Though I’ve not spent much time there.”

Just then, the front door hit the wall with a hollow thud. Beatriss, Oona, Fen, and Jasper whipped around in their chairs simultaneously, Fen sending his turtle stew flying into Jasper’s lap. Jasper cursed loudly and colorfully at the onslaught of cold broth and turtle bits. Luckily, exactly what he said was masked by the ruckus now coming from the entryway. Right after the door had slammed, what sounded like a small explosion had thrown something – or someone – up against the wall. Muffled arguing could now be heard more clearly.

“Asher, I told you not to carry those where they could go off!” scolded a male voice.

The other retorted, “You pushed me through the door! I don’t know what you expected, you know what I carry.” He sounded amused.

Fen, Oona, Beatriss, and Jasper had been frozen at the table, but slowly a smile spread across Beatriss’ face. “It’s only Asher and Calder,” she said, looking at Oona. “I told you they might be stopping by.” Oona had shot to her feet when the explosion went off and was holding her hands in front of her in an odd, defensive-type gesture. She lowered them to her sides at the strange looks the other three were giving her.

Two young men jostled each other into the kitchen. Besides one’s burly figure and the other’s lankier frame, they looked almost exactly alike, with red-brown hair and narrow, deeply tanned faces.

The burly one spoke first. He was dressed in black cloth, clad in greaves and a white camel-leather vest, and carried a mace slung over his shoulder. He looked ready for a fight.

“Sorry about your door, Triss,” he apologized. “I’m also sorry I have a dimwit for a brother.”

“Hey, I’m prepared for anything,” stated the lanky one. “You never know what’s going to come at you in Halsted. It might even be your own brother.” He looked meaningfully at said brother. “I’m Asher, by the way.” He strode over to Oona and held out his hand. She shook it, still looking wary.

“What was that, may I ask?” Oona queried.

“You may,” Asher said with a grin. “It’s a sort of bomb invented by yours truly. I like to keep them on my person at all times. You never know what you’ll need protecting against. Luckily this one is of a calmer variety. It just knocks people off their feet. But I make worse,” he winked.

“I’m Calder.” The burly twin shoved his brother aside and shook Oona’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Beatriss gave the twins a dirty look. “It seems that I find myself apologizing on behalf of my delinquent friends yet again.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Asher bowed in Oona’s direction. As he did so, a small black orb dropped out of the satchel over his shoulder and bounced away, trailing smoke. Asher scrambled after it, mumbling apologies while Fen and Jasper snickered.

“You’re in for a real treat now, Oona,” Jasper laughed.

To Beatriss’ relief, Oona laughed as well. “Most of the people I work with don’t have much of a sense of humor. This will be a nice change.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard these two described like that,” Fen grinned at the twins. Calder punched his arm good-naturedly.

“So, Oona, how was the family? Haven’t seen them in a while, I imagine,” Calder questioned her.

“They’re lovely people,” Oona answered. “They were very welcoming, though I’m sure they can barely recall the last time they saw me. I know I can’t.”

“They couldn’t believe someone would actually live in the Laskí, without all the creature comforts they’re so reliant on,” Beatriss scoffed.

“I can’t quite believe someone would live in the Laskí myself, to be honest,” Asher chimed in.

“It’s not as bad as you might think. There are systems of caves in some of the mountains, and they’re heated from within the rock, so the cold isn’t so bad. And the view! Oh, the view,” Oona mused reverently. “If nothing else, I stay there for the view. Every morning I see the sun rising over the Sea of Dridden in the east, spreading like molten gold across the Boroskills, weaving and dancing through the grass of the Plains with the herds until it sails up the Resare, crowning the leaves and boughs of Dridden with the finest gold. Then it finally reaches the Great Laskí, effortlessly scaling the great peaks to warm my face in the dawn chill.”

Jasper was staring vaguely at Oona, slack-jawed, while Asher fiddled with something in his bag. Calder dropped his mace, startling the group from their reveries.

“Well,” Beatriss clapped her hands together, interrupting the silence. “Oona and I have a busy day ahead of us, touring the city. I welcome any of you to join, albeit rather reluctantly after this morning’s events.” She looked toward the four boys with a tight smile.

“Thanks, Triss, but I’m afraid we’ve got some, er, duties to attend to.” Asher grinned at Calder, who chuckled and smiled apologetically at Beatriss.

“Those duties wouldn’t happen to involve a certain Keyon Vance, by any chance?” asked Beatriss suspiciously.

“I don’t know why you’d think that, Triss,” replied Calder, clapping her on the shoulder and winking. Asher juggled the smoke bomb as the two exited the room. They were already whispering fervently as they crossed the threshold.

“Those two,” Beatriss shook her head with a smile.

“They’re something, that’s for sure,” Jasper chimed in. He turned to Oona. “So, would you like to see my shop?”

“I’d be delighted,” she responded happily.

After helping Beatriss clear away the dishes and spilled stew, the four walked out into the dusty street under the blazing sun, Fen scanning the sky for any unruly vultures.


End file.
